


Forever yours.

by Aiofhan



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29909613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aiofhan/pseuds/Aiofhan
Summary: 'You say I’m not brave, but if I manage to get this letter to you, I will feel brave. I will feel that I beat them, just for a second.'Neil goes on a journey to find out who was writing his mother letters.He meets Andrew along the way.
Relationships: Mary Hatford/Original Character, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	1. The Principality of Orange

**Author's Note:**

> Got bored, made this mess, Bon Appétit.

_Mary,_

_I have never tasted oranges._

_Never felt their bitter juices on my lips,_

_Or a hard pip rest against my tongue._

_But with your blushing body against_

_Mine. My love,_

_I am in the south of France._

_Forever yours._

* * *

Neil stared up at the house in front of him, then looked down at his map, then back up again.

_27 Neville’s Square._

_The one with the flowers_ , the man working at the post office had said. Neil looked down at the marigolds, swarming in the front garden of the cottage. A stark difference from the neat rows of lawn that were found in number 26 and 28. The flowers didn’t stray over the invisible line that separated the houses, but they engulfed every available space on 27’s front lawn, growing tall and unruly.

Neil studied the front of the house. The garden, the old front door, the brick roof, the old windows that were collecting condensation. He looked down at the map in his right hand, the urn tucked snuggly under his left arm and took a breath for courage.

_We’re here, mother._

Neil steeled himself, walked through the marigolds and towards the door. Unlike the other houses on the road, this one had a fresh paint on it, the door a bright blue against the bricks of the house. There was both a brass knocker and an electric ringer.

Neil chose the knocked, focusing on the cold metal against his hand as he did.

 _Just breath in. Then out. You know what you must do._ _You can do this._

But nothing happened.

 _Maybe they’re out_ Neil thought mournfully. He had steeled himself up for nothing.

He rapped on the door once more. The small hope he had fading.

He would have to come back tomorrow.

Neil sighed and turned around. When he looked back at the garden, he found a short man standing in front of him.

Neil nearly dropped the urn.

“What are you doing at my house?” The man said. Neil noted he had an American accent. _What was an American doing in the middle of the English countryside?_ He had a tote bag in one hand and a black coat in another. He was much younger than Neil had expected the owner to be. Far too young to know Mary.

Neil looked at him in confusion, “Oh, is this your house? It’s just… I thought someone older might live here. Perhaps your dad?”

“I don’t have a dad.”

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. “Your mum maybe then? Someone older than you.” Neil looked down at his map. He was at the right place. Had seen the street sign and everything.

The man looked at him. Hazel eyes piercing into Neil’s soul.

“I live alone.”

Neil leaned against the door and let out a faint laugh.

_Of course, you do._

“I don’t suppose you know who lived here before?” Neil asked. It was a long shot.

The man stared at him, then gestured for Neil to move so he could open the door. Neil stepped aside and as the man got out his keys he said. One for the top of the door, another in the door handle.

“Tell me why you’re looking.” Neil felt it wasn’t a question. More a demand.

“I think they might be a friend of my mothers. Tell me if you have any idea where they might be.” He watched as the other man, opened the door slowly, then turned to Neil. The man looked Neil up and door, then made an odd face and turned back to his house.

“I might do. First, tell me more why you think your mum knows someone here.”

* * *

_Mary,_

_My love! What can I say about you today! Where do I beginning?! You say you do not think like me. That you are not romantic. But I saw you up there today. My Juliet. You are the perfect Juliet, they were so wrong to choose Michele and not you. Mr. Macdonald must have been out of his mind! That is the only explanation for this snubbing of you._

_I have a question though. The speech you gave. Am I being persumptious in thinking it was for me? If I am, do not read on, for I will feel so embarrassed I will have to hide my head in shame for all days. It’s just that when you said, ‘learn me how to win a losing match’, I felt that you were branding those words against my heart. I can never forget it!_

_You may have played the part of Juliet, but it will always be me who is losing to you. For that I am sure._

_Forever yours._

* * *

“The person that lived here. They were sending letters to my mum. I just-” Neil gestured to the urn, which he had put on Andrew’s coffee table. He’d learnt his name by looking at his post, which was neatly stacked next to Neil’s dead mother, “I just wanted her to say goodbye one last time.”

“What are these letters like?” Andrew wasn’t in the living room with Neil, instead he had excused himself to feed his cat in the kitchen. Neil could hear him pouring water and boiling the kettle. He was silently thankful the other man wasn’t in the room and thought that Andrew not being there made the whole thing easier.

“Personal. I wouldn’t- my mother,” Neil smiled and started to search around in his rucksack for the folded pieces of paper, “My mother wasn’t a romantic woman. I never knew her to be like that. But the person that was writing to her. I just- I don’t know. I feel like I never knew the woman.”

Andrew walked back in and passed a tea to Neil and sat in the armchair opposite him, sipping on his own drink. It was too sweet, but Neil thanked him all the same. He put his drink down and stared at the table in front of him: two mugs (one black, the other with a cartoon cat on the side), Andrew’s mail on one side, Mary’s on another, and the urn, sat in the middle of it all. Then Neil looked to Andrew, who stared back at him.

“Look…” Andrew paused.

“Neil.”

“Neil.” Andrew pointed to himself, “Andrew. Look Neil, this might come as a shock, but you probably didn’t know her. You only were with her a portion of her life. Maybe she did spend the rest of it writing love letters.”

“That’s just the thing. I only have one half of the letters. The ones sent to my mum. If I could find the other ones.”

“What makes you think that the other person kept them?” Andrew said, cutting Neil off.

“You don’t say that sort of stuff if you weren’t in love with the other person.”

“People would say anything to get what they want.”

Neil smiled, “Are you speaking from experience?”

Andrew didn’t smile back. In retrospect, Neil thought it wasn’t a good idea to antagonise the person who could help him.

“I’d never fool someone into thinking I loved them. Others would though.” Andrew said bluntly, as if he was trying to explain basic maths to an annoying child. Like Neil didn’t understand something obvious.

“Not this person. Not the person who wrote these things.” Part of Neil felt himself breaking, but another part felt lucky. It was easier that Andrew was a stranger. A means to an end. Some that he would never see again. It meant that he could talk more freely.

But still, as Neil leaned forward, his voice became a whisper, “You don’t think all of that stuff about a person and then simply forget about them. It might not have been love, but it was something.”

Andrew put his drink down and leaned forward, making a grab for the letters. Neil stopped him.

“Wait, it’s… it’s personal.”

Andrew looked at him for a second, then nodded and backed off. He took another sip of his drink, then looked down.

“The old owner of this house died a year before I moved in. He was in his 70s.”

That hit Neil right in the gut. What was he supposed to do with half a conversation when both the people involved here dead?

Neil sighed and looked around. At the sparse walls, at the new looking furniture, at the American sitting in front of him.

 _There’s none of her here. She would hate all of this,_ Neil thought bitterly. He felt like screaming and crying and crawling up into a little ball. He took another sip of the tea instead.

“Look if you don’t have anything to help me with then I can just-“

“The attic.” Andrew said, cutting Neil off.

“What?”

“The attic. When I moved in, I went up there and saw a bunch of old stuff in the attic. There were letters up there addressed to a girl named Sarah. They were love letters.”

Neil stood up.

“Why didn’t you say so? Let’s go there.”

Andrew looked up at him and said quietly, “Why do you care so much?”

“She’s my mum.”

“She’s dead.”

“She kept them. I don’t know why but she kept these letters.” Neil gestured to the pages on the table, “In them. She feels alive. More alive than I ever knew her.” _This is crazy. I sound crazy._ “I just... want to know her. The real her.”

“There’s nothing you can get from a few pieces of paper.”

Neil knew this wasn’t enough, he was going to have to give Andrew something, another piece of the puzzle. _You have to give him something. Anything_.

“I’ve never known love like that. Not even from her. Especially not from her. I thought she was so cold because she’d never known it either. Now… Now.” Neil shook his head. “I won’t tell you about me and her for free.”

Andrew looked down at the pages between them.

“You really want to know what Sarah wrote don’t you?” Neil nodded, “Fine. How’s about a letter for a letter? You let me see Sarah and I’ll let you see Mary.”

Neil stared down at him. Blue met brown, a silent battle to know the other first. “Who’s Sarah to you?”

Andrew shrugged, not breaking eye contact.

Neil shook his head, closed his eyes, thought of her. He nodded his head.

“Okay. You can see her letters.”

* * *

_Mary,_

_You say that you are sorry. That you never wanted to make me feel this way._

_Ha!_

_I know you, Mary._

_I have this theory about you, my love. That God saw what he had done to his first Mary, the perfect Mary, and wanted to make someone the opposite. Someone who revels in my misfortunes. I think that you loved the idea of me crying over you. The idea that you could make me cry. I think that you imagined tears hitting my pillow and you got off to the idea. Your legs as wet as my cheeks were._

_I think that you are a sadist, who’s only want in life is for me to be unhappy._

_And, am I wrong? Why else would you say those things to me? You want me to be at your beck and call. Well, I will be. You know that I am your puppet. That you control me._

_The only question is then, will I be Punch, or Judy?_

_Forever, yours._

_Ps. Leave Johnny alone. He has done nothing and does not deserve your rage. If you are in a fighting mood, I’d would always be up for a spat with you, my love._

* * *

“So,” said Neil, waiting for Andrew to get up. “Let me see the letters. Mary’s letters.” He tried at the words on his tongue, let himself feel them.

Andrew drained his mug, then stood up, almost levelling the two of them.

“Not today. Come back tomorrow and we can look.”

Neil scowled at the other man. Then packed up his map, the letter and the urn, and left the cottage, feeling a great deal more confused than he did when he first arrived.

* * *

_Mary,_

_I don’t know if this will reach you. I don’t know if I have the right address. I don’t even know if I have the right amount of money. I just_ [illegible].

_When you said that you had a boy. A boy! Like your namesake. Oh, my Mary. You must name him Jesus. What a funny jest that would be._

_I know you said you didn’t want children, but Mary, I just know you will be a good mother. A loving mother._

_I hope that you are happy there. In America._

_Maybe I can come visit you? Maybe you and your boys can come to meet me._

_I miss you. Don’t keep me out. I want to know you._


	2. Homes and Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil goes back to Andrew's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if they're are any mistakes. I'm sure they're are.

_Mary,_

_They can’t make you leave for America. America?! America has no history, no culture, no nothing. This man could be the nicest person in the world, and you would still not be happy with him. He would still not deserve you. You do not need a nice American, you need rough excitement. Stay here with me._

_You are 18. This isn’t the 1800s. Your family have no control over you.  
_

_This is ridiculous. I won’t let them take you away. This man will never see you. Never meet you. I will keep you safe. I will protect you if you would let me. Please let me protect you._

_I wouldn’t have to go to Oxford. I wouldn’t go. Not if you asked me not to. If you asked me to run away with you, I would. I’m sorry for even asking you to, but would you leave with me? After everything you’ve told me, about how you feel about the men your family knows, I don’t understand how you could be happy with one. I don’t get why you are entertaining the idea._

_Please Mary. I love you more than the air I breathe. My darling I love you more than I love water in a desert._

_Forever yours._

* * *

“You came back then.”

“ _You_ asked me to.”

Andrew smiled at him darkly. It was late in the day, and the shorter man was standing in his front garden, smoking a cigarette when Neil walked up the drive. Neil could smell the tobacco when he came closer, and it strengthen his resolve slightly. It reminded him why he was here.

“I suppose I did.” Andrew conceded. He put the cigarette out against his wall and then dropped the end into his black bin. Neil wondered if it was dangerous to do that. If it could start a fire. He didn’t say anything.

Opening the door, Andrew told Neil to keep his shoes on. Neil asked where Andrew’s cat was, but Andrew only muttered something about it going foraging. Neil was taken up the stairs that were to the right of the entrance hallway. It was narrow and rickety, with the third step making a creaking sound when Neil stepped on it.

It made Neil wondered if that creak had been there when Mary had been here. If Mary had been here. Whether the stairs had been painted white then, or not. Whether Mary or Sarah might have made the scratch that was across the top banister.

It was a useless way of thinking.

On the landing, Neil noticed an opening on the ceiling and waited for Andrew to get a step from the cupboard that was at the end of the hallway. Neil wondered if he should offer to open it but worried that it would come off as offensive.

Once the hatch was open, a wooden ladder that was attached to the opening sprung down in between the two men. Andrew gestured to Neil to go first.

Neil took a step back and fiend politeness, “No, no, after you.”

Andrew sighed and started to climb up the ladder while Neil held it steady, careful to make sure his hands didn’t touch the other man. Part of him thought that Andrew seemed petty enough to stamp on his hand, but instead he ignored Neil’s presence entirely.

Once Andrew had climbed up, he went into the darkness of the attic, not waiting for Neil.

 _Great_ Neil thought, _guess it doesn’t matter if the ladder’s steady for me._

With a sigh, Neil put down his mother’s Urn on a bookshelf in the hallway, mournful to leave her. Then he started to climb.

* * *

_Mary,_

_I can’t believe you kissed me. This is embarrassing to say, but I will say it anyway. I was blushing the whole way home from yours. I wonder if this is how it is that you could have left that affect on me. That you have as much control over the blood in my cheeks as Mother Nature does. Are you more powerful than Mother Nature, Mary, or do you simply have more control over me than she does? Should I start worship you as others do God? I think that last part will go right to your head._

_I wonder if I have left you feeling the same as you have left me. Please say that you are feeling like this. I am needy and want your reassurance. Pride might be a sin, but I want you to fill my ego until I pop._

_I think the sun might rise. It took so much courage for me even to start this letter. I have wasted the night and now it will be daybreak soon. Will you look at me today? Will I have the courage to send this letter? I suppose that is a problem that a me of the future will have to work out._

_For now, I will leave you knowing that I still feel your lips on mine, and my thoughts are on Emily Dickinson and how she can say what I cannot:_

For til now, I have only mourned for you; now I begin to hope for you.

_I would be yours if you would let me. You said you loved me, I didn’t say it back. But I think I would in time._

* * *

Andrew had found a light switch at the far end of the attic, and, by the time Neil had climbed up to meet him, he was already looking through a small cardboard box in one of the corners. The whole place was a mess and it made Neil a little surprised that Andrew had even found the letters in the first place.

As Neil walked to Andrew, he looked at the other things in the room. Old football posters were rolled up throughout, with dust covered action figures scattered alongside them. Most of the boxes had clothes in them; grease-stained jumpsuits and old school jumpers that looked worn and had lost their colour. Neil also noticed a small box in hidden between two bags of men’s clothes, that appeared to have fax work in.

_I wonder if I ever had a paper trail like that? Whether mum ever did? Whether there’s boxes littering the Hatford estate containing mum’s old posters, and school clothes?_

Part of Neil wished he’d been raised in England, not America, if only to be able to have a school uniform during childhood. Something tangible to connect to those early years of his life.

He wondered if holding it would give him any joy, or just remind him of the youth that was taken away from him.

A sound against the wooden floor shocked Neil out of his stupor, and he found Andrew dumping old schoolbooks around himself. Blue for maths, green for English and so on, with little stickers stuck onto the front of some of them.

“What’s this?”

“Where I found them?” Andrew said, flicking through the pages, and taking worn pieces of paper out. He bookmarked which page they were coming from as he did.

Neil sat down opposite him, careful to avoid any of the rougher parts of wood on the floor. He reached to one of the notes but was blocked by a swipe from Andrew’s hand.

“I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.” 

Neil took the letters out of his rucksack, then hesitated.

“I’m not showing you all of them. At least not yet.” He said, firmly.

Andrew stared at him, then nodded. “Okay, give me one, and I’ll give you one.”

Neil nodded, hoping that Andrew would give one of equal value. He searched through them, at one that wasn’t too personal, before choosing one written in rough handwriting, as if it was done in a rush.

_My dear Mary,_

_Stars clutter my eyes, but still I see clearly. What is this spell you have cast over me? I wonder if Matron would have anything to say about this dark magic you have been involved in._

_Your powers were especially strong in P.E.. You in those shorts! A marvel! My brother sometimes reads comics about superheroes, I think you might be one. You look like one when you are in P.E. and you play football. You said you weren’t going to try for the team, that it wasn’t girly enough, but your feminine powers shine through most clearly when you are happy, and nothing seems to make you happier than that._

_I wish you well, I’m going away for the holidays (as I am told, are you), but will see you shortly,_

_Forever, yours._

“This one.” Neil said, thrusting the letter to Andrew, trying not to think twice about it. Neil looked at him, his eyes piercing into Neil’s soul.

 _Can you see that part of my heart is in your hands?_ Neil thought in a moment of romanticism.

Andrew didn’t say anything, just past a letter written on a lined A4 paper that had been ripped at the bottom.

_Dear Sarah Reed,_

_I bet you think you’re so funny. Dating John. Fuck you. I hate you for thinking that you could be happy without me. That we could be happy apart from one another. My darling we are stuck together. You think that you will be happy with him. That he will make you feel like I make you feel. If so, then maybe his stupidity has rubbed off on you in some way. You know what I think_

[Paper ripped]

Neil read it, then read it again. He looked to Andrew.

“The one I gave you is longer.”

“You didn’t say anything about them being of equal length.”

Neil leant forward a little, “Give me another.”

“No.”

Sighing, Neil read it again, looking at the handwriting this time. If it reflected the woman he knew. If this was truly his mother.

This girl wrote in neat cursive, his mother in a scribble, but the curved vowels and long ‘t’, ‘i’ and ‘l’’s matched.

_Fuck._

Neil stood up.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

“This is my mum. Like this is actually her. She wrote this.”

“I don’t know.”

“No, the handwriting. It matches hers. Or it reminds me of her.” Neil looked to Andrew, “This is it. She was in love with this Sarah girl.” Neil couldn’t imagine Mary being in love with anyone, much less a girl.

His mother had told him love was soft, so then why had she kept the letters.

“This doesn’t have an address.” Andrew said suddenly.

“What?” Neil was struck by this abrupt turn in conversation and looked in awe at the other man.

“The letter you gave me. It doesn’t have an address. How did you know how to find this place?”

“One of the letters had a return address. None of the others did. I think the last one was the last one she sent to Mary.” Neil said the words, not really thinking about anything but the years he has spent in his mother’s cold arms.

Andrew sighed and stood up. “Come downstairs.”

* * *

_Sarah,_

_I’m sorry._

_I know that doesn’t mean much. That it’ll never mean that much, but I am. I know why you are dating him. I get it, I really do. I just-_

_If I could have you I would. If I was a man, I would protect you. I would get the job that paid well, take care of your children, grow old with you. You could write whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. I would like that._

_Break up with him. I know it’s not my place to say. I know that you are mad at me. I’m mad at me. I hate my rage. It only hurts me. It’s not my place to ask, but I still will. Break up with him. Give us a chance._

* * *

Neil found himself sat on the same lumpy sofa as the week pervious, with the same sickly cup of tea and grump man opposite him.

‘A truth for a truth’, Andrew had said. Neil felt himself nodding but his mind was unhomed from his body. He clung onto his mother’s urn as if his life depended on it, the only grounding that he could find at the moment.

“Why does it get to you so much? With your mum writing to this Sarah girl?” Andrew asked, shocking Neil a little.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone white.” Andrew said simply, staring at Neil.

“It’s not that it’s a girl.” Neil took a sigh. “My mother wasn’t a loving woman. This isn’t her.”

“People change.”

Neil shook her head. “She was forced to change.”

“Is that what annoys you?” Andrew leant forward a little and Neil found himself doing the same. “Because she loved this girl and not you?”

Neil smiled and whispered, “It’s not your go.”

Andrew leant bad, frowning. Then picked up his mug from the coffee table and stared into the contents of the cup.

Neil felt an urge to get the other man’s attention.

“Why are you here?”

Andrew looked to him. “The houses are cheap.”

Neil leant back a little and laughed. “Houses are more expensive here than they are in America.”

“Who says I’m American?”

“Your accent does.” Andrew stared at him. Neil leant forward again, putting his elbows on his knees and when he did, he noticed a little scattering of freckles on the other man’s face. “So you’re really not going to tell me?”

Andrew shook his head. “I answered, I came here because the houses are cheaper than the rest of England. Ask a different question if you want a different answer.”

“It’s not my turn.”

“No, it’s not.” Neil looked at him expectantly, but instead of asking anything, Andrew instead picked up remote controlled and turned the TV on.

“ _Countdown_?” Neil asked. Andrew shushed him.

That was how Neil found himself watching Countdown together with Andrew. The blonde man answering the letter questions while Neil did the number rounds. When the sun started to go down, Neil decided to leave, promising to come back again tomorrow for the rest of the letters. Andrew only nodded to this.

* * *

_Sarah,_

_I saw you today._

_You didn’t see me. I made sure of it._

_I don’t even know how I’ll get this to you, but I will._

_You say I’m not brave, but if I manage to get this letter to you, I will feel brave. I will feel that I beat them just for a second._

_I want to be brave._

_Won’t you teach me how to be brave?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The irony of Sarah slating America when she quotes an American poet was very fun to write.


End file.
